


Conjugation

by poisontaster



Series: Heart 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble Collection, Ficlet, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-04
Updated: 2006-09-04
Packaged: 2018-05-12 15:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5670364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conjugate: (adj.) Joined together, especially in a pair or pairs; coupled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conjugation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a supernatural100 prompt: Touch (or Feeling).

**Conjugate: (adj.) Joined together, especially in a pair or pairs; coupled.**

I. (I touch)  
"Hurts," Dean breathes. He is slurry, blurry with Vicodin. Even by their standards, he's at the limit; no more for at least six hours.

"I know," Sam answers, helpless. His fingers fit into hollows and craters in skin, digging, circling, massaging. The muscles are knots, quivering with tension. Sam aches just in sympathy. He can do this; the therapist said this would happen, showed him how. "I know, Dean, I know."

Dean's fingers dig holes in Sam's forearm but he doesn't stop. Not until he feels the cramp ease, not until Dean almost-screams, going limp.

"Hurts."

"It'll stop. I promise."

II. (you touch)  
It's only four inches of difference, but sometimes Dean can't help but think words like _tower_ and _loom_. He calls Sammy Gigantor and cracks jokes about flattening Tokyo beneath enormous sneakers.

He stares as Sam's hands in helpless fascination, proportionately large, disproportionately deft. They leave bruises, casual and unconscious, marks Dean can finger, the ache sending jolts to his groin. They open and stretch him delicately, as if Dean's some new variety of flower. They make him sob, plunged deep inside; they make him laugh, bunny ears in pictures.

They touch him and they make him real.

Sam touches him.

III. (she touches)  
She's Dean's daughter but she'll never be his niece. He can only be Stepmonster, her father's man; almost family, not quite. And he wants that to be good enough.

It _should_ be good enough.

Dean is a blissful father, puzzled, delighted by this creature that somehow came from him.

Sam loves him for it. Sam hates him for it (a little).

But she clings to his leg, begs to be swung, rides piggy-back, drips ice-cream in his hair. She climbs into his lap and sleeps, forces small fingers into big palms. Pipestem arms around his neck, hugging tight.

It's enough.

IV. (we touch)  
People expect Dean to be rough. That the violence of their everyday life must spill over into their bed. That his ruthlessness in matters of life or death extends to all parts of his life.

Sometimes it _is_ rough. Rough, hard, fast; blood, come, spit—theirs.

But sometimes it's Dean looking at him, holding him, being in him, Dean's eyes scared and wide and his body gentle, reverent.

There are secrets to a man's bed.

"Baby." Dean says and Sam knows it really means _Precious._ "Baby," Dean says and it echoes silent: _Love._

"Yes," Sam answers and behind it: _Always._

V. (they touch)  
In theory, you get used to things.

But sometimes you don't. Though Sam doesn't want to get used to the horrors he dreams. Mostly it's people—needy, helpless, hopeless—silent cries for help that only his half-trained 'ears' seem to hear. But there are other dreams, dreams of crowding darkness, more than the absence of light; smothering, choking. They feel like dying and dying slow.

He claws his way out of these, frantic and finds his brother's hand splayed across his heart, steadying him, holding him in place, grounding him to this, here, now.

"Just dreams," Dean mumbles. "I'm here."


End file.
